Journal
by geniegirl0831
Summary: Entries from Vaughn's journal after learning the truth about Syd's mother -- disjointed, stream of consciousness. ~*COMPLETE*~
1. Vaughn's Journal -- 1

January 8, 2002  
  
I'm not supposed to love her, or be in love with her, or fall in love with her. I'm her handler damnit, not some random schoolboy with a crush. But apparently that piece of information hadn't made its way from my head to my heart. So, here I am, awaiting the arrival of my unrequited affection, knowing full well that we can never be together.  
  
Oh, sure, if things were different, we might have a chance. But, it things were different than she wouldn't have been recruited by SD-6, her fiancé wouldn't have been killed and she'd never had made her way into my office and into my heart. So, chances are we probably would never have met if those events hadn't happened. And, while my dreams, my fantasies consist of us having met under different circumstances and building a future together, that too will never happen.  
  
I wish that I could have saved her a lot of the pain, the trouble and the heartache. I too understand what it's like to not fit in, only to be "honored" by being chosen as someone who fits a profile, to join an elite organization. She was chosen by SD-6 -- I was chosen to be her handler in the CIA. I also know of the heartache it has caused her. She lost her fiancé and mother -- I lost my father, who was a CIA operative, when I was eight. So, that's why I think we may have met even if neither of us were spies. But, in my heart of hearts, I know that's just not true. Fate is cruel, and twisted that way.  
  
And that's what keeps me up at night -- the cruelty of fate. Her mother was a KGB agent who killed CIA operatives, and my father. Yet that knowledge didn't diminish my feelings for her. Instead, knowing the full truth that she was just a cover for her mother's orders made my heart break. She had no idea that the loving mother she idolized, worshipped and mourned for was a fraud. How could she? Her mother played the role to perfection, never once betraying her real cause to her daughter. And her fiancé should never have died just because she thought she worked for the good guys, when the reverse is true.  
  
But what really irks me is her father, who is also a double agent. He knew about her mother's duplicitous ways, and when pressed, never told her. Sure, it was classified information, but doesn't his own daughter, who was just a cover, deserve to know the truth? See, it's easy for me to justify this, as I never had to doubt the fact that my parents both loved me very, very much. I can't imagine what it was like to grow up in a house, lose your mother and have your father become so distant.  
  
No, instead I grew up wanting to have a father who came to my little league games, and go camping with. Sure, I mean I knew my mother loved me and wanted to give me everything I was missing, but how do you replace your own dad? So, to make my mom feel better, I was the perfect son. Never skipping class, always studious, excelling in baseball and never missing curfew. Hell, I only dated the good girls in school. I mean, I didn't want her worrying about me and having to discipline me the way a father should. So, in essence, I turned myself into the son every parent wants to have. The only time I disappointed her was when I joined the CIA. She later changed her tune, when I was given a desk job.  
  
I was the safe, good son until Sydney Bristow walked into my office, with that absurd hair, and stole my heart. I loved vicariously through her tales of deceit and high stakes gambling. I dreamed about protecting her, and carrying her away from all of this madness. I broke up with Alice because of her. And, unfortunately, I love her. And that's why I can't be mad at her for something her mother did 20 odd years ago. Even if it did cost me my father.  
  
Maybe it's that innate goodness in me, the one who doesn't want to disappoint. That's why I didn't ask to have someone else take over as her handler. She feels familiar, if not at odds with right now, with me. And, because I can't change the past or see the future, that's all I have. I guess I have to live with that. That, and out brief, clandestine meetings. 


	2. Vaughn's Journal -- 2

January 9, 2002  
  
I swear to God, I'm going to kill Weiss. It's almost as if he read this journal, he's so damn spot on about my feelings for her. Only I lied and said he's apparently gotten his signals mixed up. Thank God I keep this hidden away in my briefcase. Lord only knows what would happen if the CIA discovered it, and, ohmygod, found out that one of their agents has a living, beating heart inside his chest. They might take me down and have me committed for that. For having feelings, albeit ones I'm not supposed to have, for a very beautiful and attractive woman.  
  
And it's these feelings that I am having that are affecting my dreams at night. Oh, yeah, the dreams are fun to have, but when you wake up feeling like a 12-year-old hitting puberty, trust me -- it's more than a tad embarrassing. It'd be worst if I hadn't broken up with Alice, and her wondering why I have had to wash my sheets twice this week, and three times last week, when I could barely muster up enough excitement for her when we were dating. She'd think it was weird. Or that the stress of my job had gotten to me.  
  
Man, I hope no one ever reads this entry. I'd be so embarrassed when they read that last graph. And probably mutter a few words, turn bright red and run away with this book. Anyway, like I said, my superiors wouldn't be very happy. Especially if they read about my "dreams" about her. Or if they knew how often I think about her, wonder what she's doing today. Like, is she shopping with her friend Francie who's getting married? Or, are she, Francie and Will hanging out tonight, playing cards, watching a movie and drinking wine. Heck, there's no limit to what I would give if that could just be me sitting there, next to them, relaxing, relishing the normalcy. Instead, I'm limited to friends who think I'm something that I'm not. Maybe that's why I'm so attracted to her. The fact that neither of us can tell our friends what we do for a living. Come on, what would Paul, a former fraternity bother of mine, and fellow hockey player, think if he ever found out that little Mikey Vaughn had been recruited by the CIA? Would he believe me, or buy me another round, and ask for more tall tales?  
  
Of course, that's where she and I differ. I probably could get away with telling my friends who I work for, and while the bosses wouldn't be happy, they wouldn't kill them. Her friends would be dead, just as Danny is, if she ever told them about SD-6 or working for the CIA. Especially since her house is bugged and under surveillance 24/7.  
  
Anyway, back to normalcy. Normalcy is a funny thing, because I didn't want it with Alice. No, instead I wanted to be Mr. Secret Agent Man, who lived a double life. Now that I've met Sydney, I want that normalcy. I crave it, like I can't get enough of it. The only catch is that I want it with her, and her alone. Again, fate is so cruel. The one woman that makes me feel alive, the only one who can make me feel these things, is the very same woman I can never be with. Ironic, huh? I love Sydney Bristow, and I would give up my life to protect her, but I can't have her. And I know that one day she'll find another man who makes her happy. I know it'll happen. And my heart will break. But, for now I can only consol myself with the hope that when we were working on the lie detector test and I asked if she was interested in someone, the question she vehemently said "NO" to, the one that said she was lying, I can only hope she meant yes, and that I was the guy she was thinking if. I know that I'm grasping at straws here, that it's hope beyond all hope. But what else can I do? I'm a hopeless romantic, although she wouldn't know it, and I'm hopelessly in love with her.  
  
God, I'm such a sap, aren't I? 


	3. Vaughn's Journal -- 3

January 11, 2002  
  
Okay, I really have to get a life. I mean this thinking, obsessing, longing to be with her isn't helping my psyche, and eventually someone's gonna put two and two together and I'm gonna be in massive trouble. The only problem with that, is that she's worth it. She's worth the trouble, hell, I'd even say she's worth my job. But, I can't say that because without this job I could never see her. Damn fate. My karma must be completely outta whack for this stuff to always happen to me. It's always the women you admire, respect and love that you can't have. At least that's the way it seems.  
  
I swear that one day I'm going to go insane at work. I know I saved my mother a heart attack when I accepted this damn desk job, but it's boring. I wish I was like her, getting to go out and have the adrenaline pumping while on a mission. Thank god I can live vicariously through her, but I wish that it could be me one day. Although, if that day ever came, I'd probably puke my guts out, and be deemed too sick to go on a mission. That's why it's better she's the one that goes and does these missions. Wait, I don't mean it that way, it's not good that she risks life and limb for SD-6/CIA, but it's just that I don't think I could do that.  
  
I often wonder sometimes if I ever met her friends, if we'd all get along. I mean, they all knew Danny, knew how great of a guy he was and how much he loved Sydney. Would they be as accepting of me? Or would I forever be the new guy, never quite being able to measure up to the ghost of a dead man? If this ever happened, I can only hope she's answer with something like "You don't have to measure up to a ghost. Already you are so much more than a right now, because I can't kiss him. I can't lay my head on his chest and hear his heart. I can't hold his hand. I can't be with him." But, see, there I go with the dreaming. If it wasn't for the lack of other work I have to do, other than be her CIA handler, I'd never get to write in this journal.  
  
Let me see, what else can I write about? Alice and I broke up, but I mentioned that a few days ago. We broke up, because she borrowed my cell phone one time, and listened to a voice message Sydney had left for me, calling me her guardian angel. When I couldn't explain to her why Sydney called me, we broke up. I mean, I probably could have come up with some lie, but I had known for a long time that it was over between the two of us. She wanted more answers than I could give. Why I had secret clandestine meetings at night, in the bad part of town, in an abandoned warehouse? Why she never met any of my co-workers? Why she was never invited to the company holiday party? Always why, why, why, why. And what could I say? "Honey, this will come as a shock to you, but I am not an accountant, I'm a CIA operative. I meet with a double agent named Sydney Bristow during those meetings, and as for the rest, it's because my co-workers' lives are as secret as mine. And we don't have holiday parties."  
  
Either way, we'd have broken up. This way she thought I was cheating on her with someone. I wasn't physically, but mentally, I have to admit that I haven't, or hadn't, thought of Alice in a long time. She had become almost nothing more than convenient when I met Sydney Bristow. I know that's a harsh thing to say, hell it's hard to write, but I don't mean convenient for physicality. I meant convenient because I already knew her. We had become comfortable with each other, and that's why it was convenient. I hate to admit it, but she still excited my physically. The rest of the relationship had faded.  
  
Damn, I still talk about Sydney, even when I try not to. 


	4. Vaughn's Journal -- 4

January 15, 2002  
  
It's raining today, and she's out on a mission. Its days like this, when the weather matches my mood, that I feel like I'm sinking. It's not just the fact that she's out there risking her life; it's more that she may never return. And that would be completely unbearable to me. To think that I sent her out there, okay on a counter mission not the original one, and she may never return. I think if that happened, I might just lose it for real. Who knows if I'd ever return to work? What I'd do, I have no clue, but I wouldn't want to be back within these restraining walls, knowing that I'd never see her again, or hear her voice. That would be torture.  
  
And the more I spend looking out the window, seeing the rain fall, I know I would drown if she never returned. Her father would be so pissed at SD-6 if she didn't come back. He's already mad that they recruited her to begin with, but I think he'd lose it too. How was he to know that Sloane had decided early on to recruit his only child, the result of a marriage to a woman who was a covert KGB agent who killed numerous CIA officers. Actually, I want to know how he was recruited, since he was CIA to begin with. How did he manage to not let them know about that? And when did he find out SD-6 wasn't part of the CIA, but part of the group he thought he was helping annihilate? God, it's days like this when I start questioning questions that I think maybe I'd have been better suited to philosophy than to that of a CIA officer, operative.  
  
Want to know something funny? I couldn't sleep last night, and started flipping through the channels to cure my insomnia. What did I find? Re-runs of iLa Femme Nikita/i. I started laughing at Section and all the other characters. If they ever knew how spot on they really were, I don't think they'd ever believe it. It's a joke at work that someone must have been feeding them secret information to make the show so accurate, yet so funny at the same time. The people are spot on, the rest of it's far-fetched. I got tired of that, and ended up falling asleep to iStorytellers/i on VH1. I slept okay, but my neck could use a good massage, which would relieve this damn crick. If someday SD-6 is ever gone, I wonder if I could ever date her. Would it be okay? I mean, she is getting her degree, so she would have something to do. I don't think she'd want to stay in the spy business once SD-6 is gone. Would we be able to have a life together? Would she even want me around if her life wasn't in danger, and she didn't have some covert mission to keep her going?  
  
I really need to stop asking these questions, cause there aren't any answers I can find. I need to start putting this useless energy and body I have to work. Maybe I'll join a gym, or start running again. The last time I ran was when I saw her at the track. I'm probably so out of shape now, it's not even funny. 


	5. Vaughn's Journal -- 5

January 19, 2002  
  
Here I am alone on a Saturday night, the fallout of a relationship breakup. I'm sitting on my couch in flannel pajama pants, a ratty old t-shirt and socks, drinking alone. Hell, I'm halfway through my second six-pack of beer. I couldn't even tell you what kind it is, all I know is it's alcoholic. And I'm well on my way toward becoming drunk. If there's ever a time I shouldn't get drunk, it's probably now, but screw that notion. If I want to get drunk, I'll get drunk. It's not like I really have anyone who would give a damn if I woke up tomorrow in the hospital from alcohol poisoning.  
  
I mean, sure Weiss would care and so would some other people I work with. Hell, she'd probably care as well, but none of them would be allowed to come see me. Something about protocol and such about it not being appropriate even thought I could die if I ended up with alcohol poisoning. But, I'm not some stupid fraternity boy anymore, so I'll probably quit after this beer. Which is probably a good thing, as the room is starting to spin.  
  
Yet, for the life of me I can't figure out why my CIA buddies and I are allowed to go to bars together, but other than that it's considered fraternizing, which is the biggest no-no in the CIA. Being friends outside of work bad, drinking with work buddies good. Can someone who's sober please explain that to me?  
  
I talked to her today. She kept saying the chill had gotten worse. I asked what she meant, although I already knew the answer. It's the chill inside of yourself when you feel utterly helpless, and powerless, yet you keep going. No matter how much I could hate her mother, it was the one thing that sustained her. And now that's gone. Her father's never been a great father. Her friends have no idea what she does. And Danny, well I'm sure he's up there somewhere alternately cursing her out and watching out for her. She calls me her guardian angel, but in reality I think it's him. And here I am babbling on about angels and such, when even I don't know if they exist. Hell, right now, I don't even know if God exists. But, if he, or she does, I have one question to ask -- why must there be so much pain? It feels like each time I get ahead in something, or start to have feelings for someone, I discover it can never work out. Alice, the woman before her, hell, my first girlfriend and now Sydney. Would it be too much to ask that I be able to have a relationship -- a grown-up, out in the open relationship -- with the woman I love?  
  
Yeah, I know the old adage that with joy comes pain, but there are some of us -- myself and Syd included -- who only seem ever feel pain. Why? What is the joy of pain? It makes you lose your sense of self, doubt yourself and hate yourself. I haven't felt this way since I found out that my father died for his country. I kept asking myself which sicko out there did this? Didn't they know he had a family who loved him? A little boy who adored the man he called Dad? A wife who was anxious to have more children? Now that I know what sicko it was who murdered him, I have even more questions. Like did she ever love Sydney? Did she love Jack? Was any of it real, or was it all a farce that enabled her to carry out her deadly missions? And I feel for Syd. I knew my father loved my mother and me. She doesn't know if her mother ever loved her, much less whether her father feels any guilt or remorse. God, I'm pathetic. I'm lying on my couch, covered head to foot with a blanket cause I'm so cold, contemplating big issues when I'm trashed. Guess I'll go to bed, but I know that when I wake up, I'll still be cold.  
  
Syd, where are you tonight? Do you know there is someone out there who cares about you? Who loves you? 


	6. Vaughn's Journal -- 6

January 21, 2002  
  
I talked to mom today. She sounded good. Still worries about my job, but when I reassure her that I have a desk job and have no need to ever get into an armed battle with anyone, she relaxes again. I had to tell her about Alice, which brought a small lecture. You know, the one where she reminds me that I'm not getting any younger, and that I should really find a nice woman and settle down. Have a family. And through the whole thing, I had to bite my tongue and not tell her about Sydney. First off, how would I introduce her into the conversation? I've worked with her for months, and I've talked to my mom since we started working, so it would seem unusual. Plus, moms are able to pick up on the "I like her" vibes, which would lead me into telling her that I can't get involved with a double agent. She'd sense I was holding back, and I'd spill about her mom killing dad. I just know she'd be able to get it all out of me, just like she always does. Moms are tricky like that. They know when you're lying, or hiding something, even on the phone.  
  
And, sad thing about it is, is that she'd like Sydney. She'd say something like "the child cannot be held responsible for the sins of the parent." And all would be okay. Or she'd fake it real well. They'd probably get along famously, actually. All jokes, and telling embarrassing stories about me. Teasing, but love underneath it all. Or at least I would hope so. It would be different from when Alice met mom. Although she lectured me on the breakup, mom didn't like Alice. She thought that when Alice found out I was CIA, she'd leave me anyway. She didn't like the way Alice was so picky, about everything. My clothes, my job, the fact that she didn't know my friends at work, my hair, everything. She didn't like how demanding Alice was of everyone. Still, she wasn't happy that I again was single. Single and in my 30s. She'd like for me to have a family of my own, someone to share my life with, children to raise, someone to hold at night, little league games to go to, graduations to attend, weddings to plan, etc.  
  
How would she react, after I told her of Sydney, that Sydney was the one I wanted those things with? The offspring of the enemy was the one person who had stolen my heart, and run away with it. The one woman whose presence can calm me down. The woman whose image lulls me to sleep at night. That she, whose mother killed dad, is the one I love with all my heart.  
  
This is all why I told my mom nothing about Sydney. She'd figure it out. She'd want me to be happy, but safety is her first priority for me. She'd tell me to get reassigned, and move on, find someone who wouldn't bring me constant pain and sorrow. What she wouldn't know, and never will find out, is that the one woman who brings me so much sorrow and pain is the same woman who brings rainbows and love back into my life.  
  
Guess those poetry club meetings in college paid off, huh? Funny, I used them as a way to woo women, not to describe the feelings one brings up inside me. 


	7. Vaughn's Journal -- 7

January 26, 2002  
  
I visited Dad's grave today. And, I told him all about Sydney. I asked what he thought, and realized how foolish that may have been. After all, a dead man can't talk to you, no matter how much you wish otherwise. Again, I'd like to think he'd like her. He was always a sucker for beautiful, strong, fragile women. That's where I get it from, I think. After all, mom meets that profile as does Syd. But it got me to thinking -- if Dad was still alive, would I ever have met Sydney Bristow, the woman who has changed my life? I don't think I would have.  
  
Which leads me onto a stream of what ifs, which is something I only follow when I'm drinking alone (just like last weekend, lord, I need a life), at home by myself (again, I need a life), in ratty pajamas thinking of what might have been. Or what never could be, is another way of looking at it. If I was female, one would say I was on an emotional roller coaster, but since I can't show my weakness at work or with any of my friends, I had better have a place to let it out, so this journal is it. Stupid idea mom had when I was eight and dad died, was to keep a journal. Now, over 20 years later, I still keep one. Of course it's not all about how much I hate him for leaving us now. Now it's about my pathetic existence as a human being, seeing as the one woman I love I can never have.  
  
Anyway, I spoke to dad today about her. And I almost felt a feeling of forgiveness wash over me. It was as if he forgave me for hating him when I was younger and naÃ¯ve, and forgiving of her and her family. After all, dead men aren't supposed to harbor any bad feelings. I know that. The feeling calmed me in a way few things have been able to in years. Not even Alice was ever able to calm me this way. The only other people who have been able to make me feel this way are my mother and Syd. Mom, with her hugs as sobs racked my child body when dad was gone and I was still too young to understand. Syd for two reasons -- first, she trusts me. Implicitly with her life, her feelings and she feels comfortable around me to cry. Second, because she understands me. I can look into her eyes, and know that she understands things about my life that no one else can. The secrets, the lies, the fear, she knows it all. And hers is doubled.  
  
So, what do I remember about Dad? I remember him showing up at my little league games, ready to coach in a dress with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders off the shoulders and shiny black shoes covered in sand. I remember him teaching me how to ride a bicycle. I remember going camping with him, and him being so proud when I went on a roller coaster for the first time. I remember going to Disney Land with him, and having him take a picture of me with Mickey Mouse. I remember the smell of his after shave, that he used to pull the comics out of the paper every day for me, that he used to read to me every night he was home, that he and mom never fought and that he always kissed her and that she always blushed. I remember going to church with him -- I quit going after he died. I remember him going with me to get my hair cut. I remember waiting anxiously, faced pressed against the window, when he was away on a business trip. I remember seeing him cry when mom had a miscarriage, although I didn't understand at the time. And I remember being extremely pissed off when he never returned home. When I found out he was killed while working for the CIA, and I vowed never to follow in his footsteps. But he was my idol, everything I wanted to be, and though that's cheesy, it's true.  
  
I want to be like him, complete with the family and kids. And I want to be able to do things that he never was able to do, so he can watch over me and live through that. God, how much I still miss him after over 20 years. It's mind-boggling. 


	8. Vaughn's Journal -- 8

February 11, 2002  
  
7 p.m.  
  
Okay, I'm not used to beating guys up. Or killing them for that matter. But I had to help her. She wanted to quit, and I must admit my initial reaction was personal in nature -- if she quit, I would never see her again. She'd probably end up dead. Which is why I'm extremely glad McKennas Cole showed up when he did. I just wish I could have been there when Jack cut Sloane's finger. I wonder if he screamed in pain, or just took it. I kind of hope the pain was excruciating, but he didn't scream. I hope he remembers that for the rest of his life. For it's all due to him that I can never see her outside of a dingy warehouse on the outskirts of town. Damn you Sloane.  
  
On the other hand, I can't believe I actually did field work. Devlin's gonna kick my ass, but I bet Haldacki is going to love that, and head over to Barnett with that juicy tidbit. "Vaughn went in to SD-6 because his little Sydney was in danger." You know what Haldacki? F--- you, bud. If I hadn't gone in there, her blood, and her father's blood would be on your hands. My heart would break, but their blood would be yours. And I would hope they'd haunt you, you pompous jerk. He's in Devlin's office even as I write this. To wish him to be fired would be the ultimate gift, it's too bad I don't believe in Santa anymore. I just hope I'm reinstated as her handler.  
  
I haven't changed out of my work clothes yet. Weiss is going around calling me "balls of steel" again. He's also threatened to pummel Haldacki for me. I just smiled, and shook my head. That, is a job I want, and will relish in when he's been demoted, or fired, or something. Anyway, karma can be a bitch. Damn, I'm being called into Devlin's office.  
  
9 p.m.  
  
Thank God Devlin is not my father. I just was yelled at for almost two hours. Yes, I've been reinstated as her handler. Yes, he's happy I was willing to go and help keep our double agents alive, albeit at the saving of SD-6. But, I am on probation. And Haldacki? Demoted, placed on another assignment for the time being. Little weasel, he's just biding his time until he can pester me about her again. I wish I wasn't on probation, then I'd be able to do something for her for Valentine's Day. All I can do now is get a secure line, and call her. If for nothing else that to take her mind off Danny, make her laugh, and say "Happy Valentine's Day, Syd." 


End file.
